


XII. Nobody Home

by notablyindigo



Series: The Better Half [12]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notablyindigo/pseuds/notablyindigo





	XII. Nobody Home

Some days, everything is perfect. 

Joan lies on her back in the grass with her eyes closed against the sun and does her best to think about nothing at all. Prospect Park had defrosted late that year, snow and slush and dirty puddles of snowmelt persisting well into April, and so it was almost May by the time the lawns were dry enough for her to take post-run dozes. Now that the weather was right, Joan was back to taking full advantage, chucking out her wintertime bottles of Vitamin D pills in favor of the real thing, synthesized from sunlight. For the first time in weeks, the sun is out in full force, beating down from a true blue sky. Joan soaks it in, and it makes her feel as if she’s glowing from the inside, yellowy heat coating the insides of her eyelids and coiling itself in her hair. 

She hears footsteps in the grass next to her, and puts up her hand to her face so she can peek out from between fanned fingers. She lifts her eyebrows in surprise when her eyes finally make out the features of the backlit face above her. 

"Marcus!" she says, raising herself up on her elbows. He grins down at her, plucking his headphones out of his ears. He’s dressed for a run, athletic leggings and long-sleeved tee warding off the residual morning chill in the air. 

"Thought that was you I saw by the lake," he says. He tucks his phone into his pocket, then sits down on the ground next to her. "Didn’t recognize the braid," Bell continues, jerking his chin in the direction of her plaited hair. "Guess I’m used to the…" He gestures vaguely with his hand at the back of his head, searching for the word. "Ponytail." Joan smiles and shifts into a seated position, crossing her legs underneath her. 

"I knew you lived around here, but I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you work on Saturdays," Joan says. Bell shakes his head.

"I do, but not officially." He smiles wryly. "It’s supposed to be my day off, but I always end up coming into the precinct anyway. Usually because of whatever you and Holmes have going on." Joan winces.

"Sorry," she says, and gives him a rueful look.

"Hey, as long as we catch the bad guys, right?" Bell pushes the sleeves of his shirt up, baring muscular forearms. "So, the two of you dig up a new case yet?" Joan shakes her head.

"Not since closing the Alonso murder," she says. "It’s nice to get a break, but of course Sherlock’s going stir crazy. He’s got the scanners going on full blast, and I think he spent last night digging through cold files. Left a whole crate of candidate cases outside my bedroom this morning." Joan reaches down to pick a bit of dried grass out of the cuff of her sock.

"What’s that been like, anyway?" Bell asks. "Living with Holmes now, I mean. Never figured him for the roommate type." 

"Actually, I’ve been living at his place since he first started consulting for the NYPD." Joan catches Bell’s surprised glance. "Strictly professional," she says, answering his unasked question. "Anyway, it’s easier than you might think. I mean, obviously you can’t live with Sherlock and expect everything to be normal all the time, but…" Joan shrugs, thinking of ceilings dripping honey and of violins being torched in the living room. "It helps that we have a lot of space." Bell looks at her, amused. 

"Yeah. But I’m willing to bet that you being patient and putting up with his crap also helps." Joan laughs.

"You might be giving me too much credit," she says. "Last week I broke a plate to make a point." Bell raises an eyebrow. 

"I’m guessing it wasn’t anything he didn’t deserve." Joan shrugs. She’d wondered, afterward, if she should regret doing what she did. But she’d found the action cathartic. And, more to the point, it’d worked in shaking Sherlock out of his…temper tantrum. After all, one good turn deserves another. 

Next to her, Bell lays back in the grass, crossing his arms under his head. The hem of his shirt lifts with the movement, exposing a thin strip of skin. Joan works very hard to not notice. 

"Y’know, I have a case I think you might be interested in. Not a homicide, so Holmes’d probably get bored, but I could use a fresh pair of eyes." Bell glances up at her, and Joan smiles. 

"I’d like that," she says, smiling. "I haven’t had a case without sherlock in a while." 

"Come by the precinct tomorrow? We can…I don’t know. Maybe we can grab lunch and I’ll walk you through the files." Joan reaches down and plucks a bit of dried grass out of Bell’s close-cropped hair. 

"It’s a date," she says.


End file.
